


Sinking Ships

by SergeantPixie



Category: Supernatural, The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M, I REGRET NOTHING, I regret everything tbh, the sequel no one (except Belle) asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 07:34:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5531159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SergeantPixie/pseuds/SergeantPixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the right person shows up just in time. </p><p>Sequel to 'In Hindsight'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sinking Ships

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly had no intention of writing this sequel? You can blame/thank my friend, Belle, for this. She demanded it. So this is her Christmas present. Merry Christmas, Darling. Anyway. The title is taken from This Love by Taylor Swift. I wasn't planning on using a different song, but a couple of the lines fit so perfectly that I couldn't resist. Definitely look up the song if you haven't heard it, it's lovely.
> 
> Umm, so it's set three years after 'In Hindsight', which puts it at about S2 for spn and past whatever the fuck is going on in tvd I guess. Basically everything about the tvd verse changed, so it gets a little confusing there. Elena didn't become a vampire, Alaric didn't complete his transition so no evil super vamp Ric, he just died. Elena never got back together with Stefan and she never dated Damon at all. Anything else that's important will be explained in the story. Enjoy

"Do you think the town's founders realized the ironic fate they would be bringing down on their town by naming it Mystic Falls?" Sam mused as he examined the map in his hands. Dean snorted, his attention on the road in front of them as he drove.

"No, probably not," he replied. "Where the hell did the name come from anyway?" Dean asked in disbelief.

"Turn here," Sam instructed before he answered, "There's a waterfall at the edge of the town called Mystic Falls, they named it after that."

"Who in the hell named the falls that?" Dean muttered. There was a sense of déjà vu that grew with every mile marker they passed.

"I have no idea," Sam admitted. They passed a bar and Dean's breath caught in his throat. He swallowed. He did his best to avoid this stretch of highway, passing that bar only gave rise to conflicting emotions.

"You sure this is the way?" Dean asked gruffly. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Yes Dean, this is the way," he insisted. "We're not lost, Mystic Falls is coming up in three exits on the left," he added, tracing the map with his fingers.

"As long as you know where we're going," Dean grumbled, gripping the wheel. Sam looked at him curiously.

"What's up with you?" he asked. "You've been jumpy ever since we hit Virginia," he added pointedly. Dean shrugged in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner.

"I don't like doing favors for your college buddies," he said shortly, hoping it would be enough to throw Sam off the scent.

If he realized it had anything to do with Elena, he would latch onto it like a rabid dog with a bone. Sam never lost an opportunity to pry for information about her, and Dean never let him have a scrap more than what he'd gotten that first time he'd brought her up. Dean was usually unwilling to share things, but Sam swore the subject of Elena turned his brother until a damn good impersonation of Fort Knox—nothing came out, and no one got in. Luckily, Sam took the bait.

"It's just a typical haunting, Dean," Sam said exasperatedly. "We go find the remains, we burn it, the end."

Dean tried not to let his relief show.

"Tell me about the ghost," he requested, hoping to drag Sam further away from the subject he hadn't even realized they were on the verge of. After all, if Sam realized that they had just passed the bar where Dean had first met Elena, he'd never let it go. Especially if he realized how much it had affected Dean.

Most days Elena was nothing more than an ache in his chest, no worse than the one left by the loss of his mother or memories of his childhood, easy enough to ignore with enough distraction—and booze when necessary. But sometimes she crept back into his head, winding around his heart like the heaviest of chains, filling him with regret.

Oblivious, Sam rambled on about the ghost—Logan Fell. He'd died several years before under suspicious circumstances and had been haunting his poor mother ever since. One of his apparently many cousins had attended Stanford with Sam and asked him to take care of it.

While Sam talked, Dean listened as best he could, letting the details of the job replace thoughts of the girl he knew that one summer three years before.

Thirty minutes later when they pulled up in front of the Mystic Grill, Dean begrudgingly admitted that Sam's directions had been solid.

"Remind me again why we're going to look for the body during the day time?" Dean asked as they made their way into towards the grill.

"We're not going to do anything about it, just figure out where it is so we don't have to spend hours stumbling around in the dark trying to locate the right tombstone," Sam said logically. Dean rolled his eyes but followed him into the grill.

Sam had made him stop at the town hall where he'd managed to find a map for the historical tours of the town's cemetery. Apparently cemetery tours were a thing, who knew?

In the grill Sam made a beeline toward a sweet looking old lady who was reading the newspaper and sipping her sweet tea in the corner. Dean followed, satisfied that his brother had picked a good person to ask for directions.

"Pardon me, ma'am," Sam began and the lady looked up from the paper and gave him a sweet smile. "Would you mind giving us some directions? We're hoping to pay our respects to the late Logan Fell, we've been out of the country for the past couple years and only just found out about his passing.

"He and my brother are old friends, we'd be forever grateful if you told us exactly how to get the Mystic Falls Cemetery and where we might find the Fell family plot?"

"Of course, dear," she agreed. The lady smiled sympathetically and held out her hand for the map. She opened it and began to explain where they were going to find this Logan Fell.

"The Fells are one of the founding families of the town, so they'll be in the oldest part of the cemetery," she explained pointing out an area on the map. After she finished she handed the map back over.

When the brothers thanked her and began to leave she seemed to remember something and called after them. They turned back to her expectantly.

"Whatever you do, please do your best to avoid the southeast corner today," she requested. "There's a burial going on, and I'd hate for you to interrupt it, the poor dear has been through enough in the past couple of years," she added sympathetically.

Reassuring her that they would do their best to avoid that part of the cemetery, the brothers were on their way.

* * *

 

 

"Mystic Falls was founded in 1860," Sam read from the pamphlet. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Does that thing say how to get back to the entrance?" he asked snidely. Sam steadfastly ignored him and continued reading.

"There were five founding families, many of their descendants still live in the town to this day," Sam continued.

Dean frowned at the tombstones around them in confusion. They had found Logan Fells' tombstone easily enough, but somewhere on their way back they'd gotten lost. Dean had a sneaking suspicion they were getting closer to that southeast corner, and he really wanted to avoid all the crying people. Sam didn't seem to be particularly worried though, so hopefully they were further from that corner than he thought.

"It's a closed cemetery," Sam announced, seemingly delighted by that bit of information. Dean sighed heavily, scanning the cemetery for a familiar landmark, anything to point them back toward the front entrance. "That means the only new burials that are allowed here are from people with family plots—like descendants of the founding families."

"The founding families were the Forbes, the Salvatores, the Fells, the Lockwoods, and the Gilberts," Sam droned on, and Dean's stomach twisted at the last name. He reminded himself that Gilbert was a common last name. Dean caught a glimpse of a familiar looking tombstone and grinned.

"Hey Sammy, I think I know the way back," he called behind him. Sam looked up from the brochure. "I recognize that tombstone, the entrance is just past it."

Sam frowned.

"I don't know, Dean, I think we might be getting too close to the southeast corner, maybe we should go back?" Sam suggest worriedly. Dean rolled his eyes and kept going. Sam sighed heavily and trailed behind him.

The path they were following was slightly elevated with a row of pine trees between it and the lower path. After a couple of minutes a group of people dressed in funeral black passed them on the lower path. Both brothers stopped and watched them, panicked. Luckily the group didn't seem to be aware of them.

A blonde girl held hands with a petite blonde woman—her mother—tear tracks down both of their faces. A tall boy with defined cheekbones and messy dark hair was guiding a slim woman with nut-brown hair and a prominent pearl necklace draped around her neck, probably his mother as well. A blond-haired young man had his arm wrapped around the shoulders of a petite black girl who couldn't stop crying. A tall boy with green eyes seemed to be the only one without anyone to comfort. His face was drawn and troubled.

"Someone should check on her," the slim woman with nut-brown hair said between sniffles. The green-eyed boy piped up.

"My brother went back to see if she needed anything," he offered. The woman nodded and the group descended into silence. When they were out of sight, Sam turned to Dean.

"I think we're going the wrong way," he said. Dean frowned.

"We should at least go the end of the path," he suggested. "If it's the wrong way we'll turn around," he added before continuing on. Sam followed along reluctantly.

The scenery didn't get anymore familiar as the path continued, and the further they got, the more sure Dean was that it was the wrong way, again. Just as he was about to suggest they turn around, the path ended, and Dean stopped short.

"What the hell?" Sam muttered when he ran into Dean. Dean didn't reply.

She stood out against the absurd greenery of August. Standing at the foot of a freshly dug grave, she was wearing a stiff black dress, black heels, and black stockings. All of her glorious, long, dark hair was gathered into a neat ponytail. Her arms hung limply at her sides, her right hand was fisted around some unknown object. It was Elena.

Dean inhaled sharply, unable to comprehend that she was standing in front of him for the first time in nearly three years. She hadn't noticed them.

"Elena," a man's voice called from the edge of the lower path. Dean looked over; it was the man who had picked Elena up from the bar. Blessedly, he hadn't noticed Sam and Dean, their path partially obscured by the trees. Sam twitched, glancing at his brother and then at the girl. The name was all he needed to hear to understand what was going on with his brother. This was _his_ Elena.

Elena didn't respond to the man. She just stood there, staring at the grave.

"Elena," he repeated. She still didn't turn to look at him. With his hands in his pockets he walked over to stand behind her. He extracted his right hand from his pocket to touch her back but she flinched away from him so he quickly withdrew his hand.

"It's time to go," he said gently. She shook her head.

"I can't," she replied hoarsely. She cleared her throat. "I can't leave him yet," she admitted quietly. He fell silent. After a long silent pause she turned to him.

"You need to leave, Damon," she told him firmly. He recoiled at her dismissal and opened his mouth to protest.

"I have to say goodbye, and I'm not going to do it in front of you," she said, cutting his protests off. He closed his mouth, clenching his jaw, but still he nodded and turned back toward the path.

At the beginning of the lower path, he turned back to say one last thing.

"I'm sorry, Elena," he told her, his tone sorrowful. She didn't turn back to look at him.

"Something has to change," she said. She finally turned and looked at him, her eyes red and raw, and her face pale. "I can't keep living like this."

With that, she turned back to the grave, effectively dismissing Damon. When he was gone, she opened her mouth to speak again, unaware of her audience.

For his part, Dean couldn't move, still in shock at seeing Elena for the first time in three years.

"I don't know how to let you go," she whispered at last, looking down at her shoes. Her ponytail bobbed with the movement, spilling her dark hair over her cheek and obscuring her face.

"I know I should be used to this by now," she continued, tilting her chin up and shaking her hair out of her face. "I mean, I have more black dresses than underwear at this point," she joked bitterly.

"But I never get used to this feeling. The pain is—unbearable, every time," she admitted, her voice raw. Dean clenched his jaw, his chest aching for her.

"I love you so much, and I'm so sorry that I didn't protect you," she bit out, choking on her emotions. "I'm sorry that I couldn't save you."

She sobbed.

"I should've saved you."

She heaved for air, arms wrapped around her stomach, bent over at the waist.

Dean wanted to go to her, but he didn't know how she'd react to his presence, so he stayed put.

"I love you so much," she said again, when she could speak. She straightened her spine and used her bare fingers to wipe the tears from her face, her right hand partially folded over whatever she was holding. She pressed the fingers of her left hand to her mouth and blew a kiss to the grave before she said her farewell.

"Goodbye Jeremy."

With that, she left the cemetery, walking the same path the other mourners had taken, completely unaware of the Winchester brothers' presence.

When she was gone, Dean left the path, striding over to the group of headstones surrounding the currently unmarked grave. Sam followed behind him, bewildered but thankfully silent.

Dean examined all the gravestones, five of them—not including the unmarked one—all from within the last five years. First there was Miranda and Grayson Gilbert, the oldest at only five years before. Then Jenna Sommers and John Gilbert not even a full year after that. Within six months, Alaric Saltzman was dead. On the back of Alaric Saltzman's gravestone, scratched into the marble in handwriting that Dean quickly recognized as Elena's, was another name and date. Isobel Flemming, who had died only a few days before Jenna Sommers and John Gilbert. There was a two and a half year gap between those six deaths before Elena had lost anyone else.

"Do you think this is her whole family?" Sam asked him. "Do you think they're all—?" Sam cut himself off. Dean shook his head.

"I dunno," he admitted.

"Who's Jeremy?" Sam wondered aloud. Dean frowned. That was one thing he did know.

"Her brother," he answered.

* * *

 

 

"Dean?" Sam said tentatively.

After his revelation, Dean had marched out of the graveyard without another word, Sam trailing helpless behind him. He hadn't said a word, simply got in the car and began to drive. Finally Sam spoke up. Dean didn't respond.

"Dean," he tried again. "What are you gonna do?" he asked. Dean didn't reply, but he pulled the car over, in front of the Mystic Grill.

"Dean, talk to me," Sam requested. Dean turned off the car and then turned to Sam, his jaw stiff.

"We never talked about our pasts," he told Sam. Sam blinked. This was the first time his brother had freely offered up information about Elena. "She knew I had a brother, and I knew she had one too. I knew she'd been involved with a vampire, and she knew that I've been hunting for practically my whole life, but that's about it," he explained. "We never talked about our lives. I didn't even know where she was from."

"Dean that's a little crazy," Sam pointed out. "You spent the entire summer with her, what the hell did you talk about?"

"Other things," Dean said dryly. Sam made a face at his implications but Dean just rolled his eyes.

"The point is, I have no idea what we're walking into, and now isn't exactly the time to ask her about her past—a past that I'm beginning to suspect is very painful," Dean said. "So we're going to go into the grill, we're going to have some lunch, and we're going to let the busybodies tell us all about her," he finished. Sam stared at him.

"Are you sure that's a good idea Dean?" Sam asked slowly. "Whatever we hear from them isn't going to be the whole truth, you know that right?"

Dean rolled his eyes again.

"Duh Sammy, I'm not stupid," he said, insulted. "But we have to start somewhere, and I'm not about to force Elena to tell me all about her life on the same day she buried her brother."

Sam raised an eyebrow at him.

"So we are going to see her?" he asked tentatively. Dean nodded.

"Yeah, of course," Dean said agreeably. "Just not today," he added. He got out of the car and Sam followed.

"Dean," Sam began, clearly ready to protest, but Dean cut him off.

"Listen, she just buried her brother, I don't think she needs an old ex popping up on her on the same day, and we're here to deal with that Fell ghost," Dean pointed out. He didn't add that if he went to Elena now there would be no way he would be able to leave her to take care of the Fell ghost, but Sam understood.

Sam couldn't disagree; they were all logical points.

"We'll go see her tomorrow," Dean added, sounding slightly uncomfortable.

"Okay," Sam agreed. They strolled into the grill.

They took a seat at the bar, near two middle-aged ladies lunching. The place was crowded enough to suggest that it was the popular watering hole in this town. After they ordered, they made a show of discussing their trip to the cemetery just loud enough to draw the attention of the ladies beside them.

"Excuse me, are you friends of Elena Gilbert?" One of them asked; both of them were looking at them with wide eager eyes. Her friend continued for her, addressing Sam.

"You look like you can't be much older than her," she observed. With a subtle shake of his head at his brother, Dean adopted a surprised look.

"I'm sorry, we don't know who you're talking about," Dean said, feigning ignorance. "We were just there visiting an old friend," he explained with a charming grin.

"Was there a funeral there today?" Sam piped in, looking innocently curious. The women smiled eagerly.

Their eagerness to discuss Elena made Dean sick to his stomach, but he wasn't about to stop them, he needed to know.

"Oh Barb and I were just talking about it," the first one said, touching 'Barb's' shoulder.

"The poor dear has had the worst luck." Barb piped in.

"She buried her little brother today, you know, Jeremy. Sweet kid, he was troubled as a teen, but he really cleaned up in the past couple of years. No one could blame him, anywho, after all that bad luck they had." The women clucked sympathetically. Their sympathy oozed over the edge of theatrical and filled Dean with annoyance, but he bit his tongue.

"They were always close, Elena and Jeremy," the other woman said, her smile fond. "Not even a year between them, those two were as thick as thieves their whole life. It was touch and go for while after that first accident, but in the end it only made them closer."

"Claire and I always thought they were the sweetest things," Barb added, referring to her friend. "Such bad luck, though."

"Bad luck?" Sam prompted tentatively. That was all they needed, taking off again at a mile a minute.

"Oh yes, when Elena was only sixteen her parents died in a car accident," Claire said, her face full of loathingly sincere sympathy. "They drove right off Wickery Bridge, the poor little thing was in the backseat, the only survivor."

"They were driving her home from a party," Barb offered, grimacing compassionately.

"Their mother—Miranda's sister, Jenna took them in after that," Claire continued, not waiting to hear their reactions. "Sweet young thing, a bit of a mess, but well-meaning."

"And of course their father's brother John was around as much as he could be, he'd always had a soft spot for Elena, such a sweet little girl," Barb said. "She's just beautiful, always has been," she added wistfully.

Dean nodded absentmindedly, stopping mid-nod. Luckily, neither of the women had noticed his slip up.

"Barely a year later, and there was another accident," Barb continued, looking stricken. "The same night, Jenna and John were gone, and Elena was only a couple months shy of eighteen."

"That's terrible," Sam muttered, Dean still silent. Both ladies nodded emphatically.

"Jenna's boyfriend Alaric Saltzman—the history teacher at the high school—moved in with them so they wouldn't be separated," Claire explained. "He was so fond of those kids, really he thought of them as his own."

"But not even six months later, he was gone too," Barb whispered, eyes wide.

"Some people think it was," Claire looked around, lowering her voice, she continued, "Suicide, he always had a bit of a drinking problem, and one day he just drank a little too much with his medication and well…" she trailed off.

Sam inhaled sharply, Dean silently taking in all the information, no emotion on his face.

"Elena was halfway through her senior year, with Jeremy only a year behind her, absolutely devastating for them. Still, that girl carried on like it was the only thing she knew how to do, graduated and went to Whitmore College just like her daddy." Barb looked proud as if she was solely responsible for Elena's accomplishments.

"Some family friends looked out for Jeremy his last year of high school, and Elena came home from school almost ever weekend, she was so devoted to him, that boy couldn't have asked for a better sister," Claire added, her eyes full of fond sadness. It was painful almost, how sincere they were.

"Then Jeremy graduated and went to Whitmore with Elena, the Gilbert siblings united again. For nearly two years nothing tragic happened, and it seemed like they were going to be fine," Barb said.

"They'd just signed a lease for an off-campus apartment together only last week," Claire cut in, sounding stricken. "Elena's pre-med you know, such a smart, sweet girl," she added wistfully.

"Then a couple days ago, Jeremy took a tumble down the stairs, snapped his neck, died instantly," Barb continued, impatient with Claire's lamenting. Sam exhaled shakily.

"And now poor, sweet Elena is all on her own," Claire said sadly. "Such a sweet, good girl. The last Gilbert."

"We all had hoped that both kids would have big families when they grew up, there were so few Gilberts left—the Gilberts are founding family descendants you know," Barb babbled.

"There are so many Fells, you can't throw a stone without hitting a Fell in this town, and if you don't hit a Fell you're bound to hit a Lockwood," Claire said wryly. "There are less Forbes', that's true, but Caroline is such a brilliant girl, and she's got a couple of cousins who moved away too. The Salvatore brothers haven't exactly settled down, but there are two of them, I'm sure they'll each meet their right girl."

"But now there's only one Gilbert left, just beautiful Elena," Barb said grimly. She added, "Although I'm sure Stefan thought she was his right girl."

Claire nodded ruefully.

"They were so in love, back in high school," she said wistfully. Dean shifted uncomfortably. "But then after Jenna and John died, Stefan disappeared for a good four months, and Elena spent her summer away, and when they came back, it was as if there had never been a thing between them."

"Now Claire, it wasn't completely like that, Stefan certainly still had a thing for Elena, but she wouldn't give him the time of day," Barb said with a smirk. "Not that she gave any boy the time of day after that summer," she added.

"There was that classmate of hers," Claire pointed out. Barb waved it off.

"That barely lasted a month, she was too focused on her schoolwork and her brother," Barb pointed out.

"I always suspected she met someone that summer," Claire confided gleefully. Barb leaned in intrigued.

Dean felt his mouth twitch, but he contained himself. Sam gave him a sideways glance that Dean steadfastly ignored.

"She never said a word to anyone about it, but there was always something different about her, like she was missing something—someone," Claire said meaningfully.

"Well it doesn't matter now," Barb said flippantly. "The poor girl is all alone, who knows if she'll go back to school after this. This could be the straw that breaks her."

Claire shook her head.

"She's always been such a strong girl, every loss she's suffered has proven that, she's got iron in her spine," Claire said fondly. Barb shook her head.

"Even iron rusts, darling," Barb pointed out. "Something has to give, this loss is too much, she won't make it back to school, especially with the rigorous curriculum involved in being pre-med."

Claire tilted her head, conceding to her point.

"She might take a semester off, but she'll go back soon, she's bound and determined to follow her in father's footsteps," she turned back to Dean and Sam. "Her father was the town doctor, Dr. Grayson Gilbert." She beamed proudly. "This town has had a Dr. Gilbert as the town physician since the Civil War."

Barb shook her head.

"She's considering the wrong profession if you ask me," she said tartly. Claire looked at her curiously. "All these accidents and she's the only one left standing, that's some _awfully_ bad luck," she said meaningfully. Claire's eyes widened.

"You can't mean to suggest that all those deaths are somehow her fault?" she said, scandalized. Dean clenched his jaw and Sam stiffened beside him.

"I'm not suggesting anything," Barb said stubbornly. "I'm just saying that there's been an awful lot of death surrounding that girl, she doesn't seem to have healing hands," she continued.

Dean's earlier annoyance was quickly becoming rage. Barb continued on, oblivious.

"There's something entirely different in those hands of hers," Barb implied darkly.

A purse slammed down on the bar beside them, and both women jumped. Dean and Sam's gaze shot over to the source of the noise. It was the tall blonde from the cemetery. Still dressed in funeral black, her blue eyes glittered angrily.

"Car-Caroline," Barb stuttered. Caroline smiled at her, her lips stretched to bare her pearly white teeth, not a hint of kindness on her pretty face.

"Barb, Claire," she addressed both of the ladies coldly. "I see you haven't left high school at all," she observed coolly. "It's kind of pathetic to have children in high school and still be _stuck_ there too, you know."

She was practically spitting her words; she was so angry that she was shaking.

"We didn't mean—" Claire stuttered, but Caroline cut her off, continuing on mercilessly.

"I get that you're aging, _miserable_ hags stuck in loveless marriages, just beginning to realize that you won't stay young and beautiful forever, but that does not give you the right to spread vicious gossip about my best friend on the day of her little brother's funeral," she spat, seething with rage.

"Leave," she ordered before they could try to apologize again. Without another word, they paid for their meal and left.

Caroline turned her blazing blue eyes on the Winchesters. Sam spoke up timidly.

"We didn't—" he began, but she also cut him off.

"Oh believe me, I know. Those two don't need any encouragement to start spreading lies," she bit out between clenched teeth. "Just do yourselves a favor and don't repeat anything they said, they've got it all wrong. They don't even know Elena," she told them, her chin tilted up.

They nodded and she looked satisfied. At last, the bartender came over with a bag for her.

"Burger with extra fries," the man said with a friendly smile. She took the proffered bag.

"No pickles?" she asked. Dean swallowed. No pickles. Elena hated pickles.

The man shook his head.

"No pickles," he affirmed. Caroline sighed and nodded.

"Good, she hasn't eaten anything since it happened, and you know how she hates casseroles, hopefully this will tempt her," she said grimly. The bartender nodded sympathetically.

"I added in a red velvet cupcake, I know how much she loves those," he told her. Now Dean knew they were definitely talking about Elena, red velvet cupcakes were her favorite dessert in the whole world.

"That's a great idea, thanks Clark," Caroline said. "How much do I owe you?" she added. He shook his head.

"It's on the house," he insisted. "Just, send along my condolences to Elena," he said with an uncomfortable shrug. Caroline smiled at him sadly.

"Will do," she agreed readily. "See you." With that, she was gone.

Clark the bartender brought Sam and Dean their lunch and the brothers ate in near silence. When Dean was almost done with his burger, Sam cleared his throat.

"So uh, what are we going do to with that?" Sam asked hesitantly. Dean sighed heavily.

"We'll take care of the Fell ghost tonight," he said, hesitating before adding, "And tomorrow we'll go see Elena."

* * *

 

 

After their meal Clark gave them directions to a nearby bed and breakfast and then they went to explore the town until dark. It was a small town, so there wasn't much to do, but there were plenty of people ready and willing to spill their guts about Elena.

None of the stories were all that different from the one Barb and Claire had told them. Elena Gilbert was pretty and smart and sweet and had lost every family member to her name. People seemed to either pity her or fear her. Their fear was based around the usual superstitions that plagued the Southern region of the United States.

Everyone had different opinions, some thought she was just bad luck, others said it was all just a string of horrible coincidences. A very small group of people seemed to believe that Elena wasn't human at all. They called her the Angel of Death, and warned the brothers away from her. After that, Sam dragged Dean away to the library for some research.

Nobody mentioned Isobel Flemming, it was the only name completely unaccounted for, but then again, Elena had scratched the name into marble herself. So Sam and Dean looked for her themselves. There were no records of her in Mystic Falls, but there were school records from a town nearby, as well as police report from North Caroline that showed she'd gone missing several years before and had been married to Alaric Saltzman. The date Elena had written was several years after the initial missing person's report.

The library provided a good deal of insight into the history of the town. Mystic Falls was a supernatural hellhole if there ever was one. Missing person reports, animal attacks, mysterious deaths, horrible accidents. It spanned back all the way to the town's founding before the Civil War.

The incidents occurred sporadically ever since, but everything that had happened since five years ago—when Elena Gilbert's parents died in a car crash, seemed to have one thing in common: Elena herself.

Names that had nothing to do with the Gilbert family popped up and all seemed to point right at her. Vicki Donovan had gone missing a couple months after the Gilbert accident, and then her body had resurfaced, the victim of a so-called overdose. She was the older sister of Elena Gilbert's childhood sweetheart, Matt Donovan.

Richard Lockwood, the town's mayor, had died in an accidental fire at Dr. Grayson Gilbert's old medical practice. Even Logan Fell's name popped up. He had died from an 'animal attack'. He'd been in an on-again off-again relationship with Elena's Aunt Jenna since high school.

The longer they researched, the more tense Dean's shoulders got until Sam was sure he was going to snap in half.

"Maybe we should take a break?" he suggested tentatively. It was getting closer to dark; they should get dinner before they went after Logan Fell's remains.

Dean scrubbed his hand across his face.

"I should've asked her about her life," he said instead of responding. Sam frowned; he didn't want to say anything that would set Dean off, so he said nothing instead.

"Nearly three years of her life where nothing good happened," Dean told him, his voice thick with emotion. "I just let her come back without even asking."

"You couldn't have known," Sam replied firmly. Dean shook his head.

"I knew something wasn't right," he shot back. "I knew there was something more going on than one vampire," he insisted. He looked down at his hands.

"I should've asked," he repeated stoutly. Sam shook his head.

"You'll drive yourself crazy if you keep thinking about it," Sam told him. Dean just looked at him.

"I know you lo—" Sam began, but Dean cut him off.

"Don't say it," he ordered, his voice urgent. Sam stopped, taken aback.

"I never said it, she never said it," Dean explained carefully. "You don't get to say it first."

Sam blinked. He was beginning to suspect that Elena might be as much of an emotional idiot as his brother. Or maybe she was just really scared. He cleared his throat and changed the subject.

"We should go get something to eat," he suggested lightly. Dean swallowed roughly, but closed the folder in front of him. It was a start.

* * *

 

 

Logan Fell was blessedly simple to deal with. While he definitely put up a fight, he was no match for the Winchester brothers, so it was over without too much of a fuss. It was a good thing too, as Dean's focus wasn't completely on their task, half his mind still on Elena. He barely slept and in the morning, Sam had to remind him again and again that they didn't want to show up too early.

Finally after breakfast, a kindly old gentleman pointed them in the direction of the Gilbert house, and they were off. It was easy enough to find, but it took Dean a good ten minutes to get up the courage to knock on the front door. Sam stayed silent through it all.

After a couple of moments the door opened to reveal to the man from the graveyard—Damon. He had a glass of alcohol in his hand and a sour expression on his face. He raised an eyebrow at them, but didn't look particularly surprised to see them.

"I remember you—cool car, lumberjack clothes, nice to finally meet you, Dean," he said quickly, tossing him a sarcastic smile. "The funeral was yesterday," he added dryly. He turned around, leaving the door open behind him.

The brothers exchanged a bemused glance but took his silent invitation and followed him into the house, Sam shutting the door behind them. They followed Damon through the empty front hallway, through the vacant living room, and into the unoccupied kitchen. Not a sound was heard from anywhere in the house.

In a surprising move, Damon poured both brothers a glass of what he was drinking. When they declined, he shrugged and drank all three himself. When he was done, he poured himself another glass. Dean noticed a rather large, ostentatious blue ring that he wore on his middle finger.

"Elena's gone," Damon said simply. Sam and Dean looked at each other and then back at him.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked slowly. Damon rolled his eyes.

"I mean, she waited until everyone went home last night, packed a bag, and took off," he explained. "She left a note too, 'I can't keep living like this', short but sweet."

He grinned, not an ounce of amusement on his face.

"Where's everyone else?" Dean questioned.

The house was eerily silent, and all around there were pictures of the Gilbert family. It struck him suddenly that all of them were dead, except Elena. A shiver worked down his spine. This house was a monument to those who had passed. He could understand why she hadn't been able to stay there. Who wanted to live in a house full of ghosts?

"Out looking for her," Damon answered, shrugging. Sam raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"But not you?" Sam enquired. Damon shook his head.

"Elena left once before," he looked at Dean pointedly. "And we only found her when she was ready to come home. Last time she felt obligated to come home, now there's nothing keeping her here. She's never coming back."

"Where would she go?" Dean asked. Damon snorted and took a drink.

"You'd know the answer to that better than I would," he said. Dean gave him an affronted look.

"You were with her that whole summer she was gone, so believe me, if someone knows where she's running to, it's you."

Dean didn't reply to that. Damon smirked.

"I never really thought of hunter as Elena's type, but I can see it now," he observed. Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Oh don't worry, nothing gave you away," Damon assured him. "It's just that Elena went from being at best a halfway decent 'vampire hunter' to a virtual Buffy over the course of one summer, a summer she spent with you, hence, you're a hunter," Damon explained logically. Dean gave a conceding shrug to that.

"She was pretty good in the first place," he told him. Damon nodded.

"Of course she was, hunting is in her blood," Damon said. "Gilberts have been hunting vampires since the Civil War," he explained. "Some of her ancestors hunted them even before that," he added thoughtfully.

Sam and Dean exchanged impressed looks.

"Are you the vampire that bit Elena?" Dean asked. Damon laughed in surprise.

"What gave me away?"

"Your ring," Dean answered. He gave him an expectant look.

"No, that would be Klaus," Damon informed him. Sam's eyes widened.

" _The_ Klaus?" Sam asked, disbelief coloring his tone. Dean's jaw tightened. Damon nodded.

"The one and only," he replied grimly. "Jackass," he added under his breath.

"Klaus doesn't exactly leave his victims alive," Sam pointed out.

"No he does not," Damon agreed. "Lucky for him, Elena survived."

"Lucky for him?" Dean echoed. Damon rolled his eyes and poured himself another drink.

"Long, tragic, boring story short, Elena is the doppelganger he needed to sacrifice in order to unleash his wolf side and become a hybrid again but he also needs her blood to make more hybrids," he uttered in one long breath.

"Blood?" Sam asked at the same time Dean said, "Doppelganger?"

Damon grimaced.

"She really didn't tell you anything, did she?" Damon asked Dean. He clenched his jaw and shook his head.

"No," he said gruffly. "She didn't."

Damon shook his head.

"Makes sense, she wouldn't have come back if she had," he observed.

"Why not?" Dean asked.

Damon laughed dryly.

"Trust me, if you knew everything, you wouldn't have let her come back."

Sam piped up.

"What really happened to them, Elena's family?" he asked. "We heard the rumors, but there's got to be more to the story."

Damon rolled his eyes, but obliged.

"Her parents really did die in a car accident, nothing funky about that," he began. "Everything after that," he paused, "Well that's where it gets complicated."

"How complicated?" Dean asked.

"Completely fucked up," Damon replied honestly. "I'm not sure how much I should tell you."

"Tell us as much as you can," Sam requested.

Damon shrugged his shoulders, and told them a rather detailed summary of all that Elena had been through in the past five years, adding necessary details from other time periods—ranging from Ancient Greece to the Civil War—when he himself was changed into a vampire.

The brothers interrupted him many times, asking questions and demanding clarification. In what was obviously a massively out of character move, Damon answered them, with sarcasm and bite, but nonetheless he answered them.

"So there's a vampire running around that looks exactly like Elena?" Sam asked.

Damon nodded.

"Katherine," he supplied cheerfully. "She's heartless bitch to just about everyone," he paused. "Except Elena," he added. "They didn't exactly get along at first, but now they're as thick as thieves." He shuddered, clearly disturbed by their friendship.

Just then, his phone rang, and he took it out into the backyard, leaving the brothers to do what they did best—snoop. While Sam was slightly more courteous, examining all the pictures on the walls in the front hall and living room, Dean blatantly wandered through closed doors, first into a sterile dining room, then into a dark study.

There in that dark corner was the first sign of life in the Gilbert house. Every inch of available space was covered with sketchbooks and art supplies. A pile of neatly labeled videotapes took up a fair amount of real estate beside a handheld camera. Pinned along the walls were hundreds of sketches.

The sketches ranged from landscapes to portraits to cartoon doodles. There were carefully detailed anatomically correct drawings of werewolves beside portraits of all the people Dean and Sam had seen at the graveyard yesterday. There were lots of portraits of the petite black girl, lovingly detailed in a way that was strangely intimate and made Dean want to look away.

There were a few of Damon and the green-eyed boy who had identified himself as his brother. Most of them were silly cartoon doodles of them being staked. Those made Dean laugh. There were a handful of the blonde haired boy and the dark-haired one. There were several drawings of the tall blonde—Caroline—including one of her with her fangs out. The delicate web of veins around her dark eyes and her bared teeth were enough to send shivers down his spine.

But more than any other subject, there were drawings of Elena. Hundreds upon hundreds. Elena smiling, Elena laughing, Elena driving, Elena studying, but above all, Elena dancing. Dozens upon dozens of portraits of Elena in mid-motion, the grace of her movements obvious even on the still pages.

Tucked under one of Elena mid-pirouette there was a portrait of two girls, both staring directly forward, faces identical down to the last eyelash. One had thick looping curls and a devious look in her eyes, while the other had stick straight hair and gentle weariness in her gaze. Katherine and Elena. The Petrova Doppelgangers. That was the only drawing featuring Katherine.

It occurred to Dean suddenly that every single one of these drawings had been done by a dead man. He fought off a shiver.

"Jeremy is—was an art major," Damon informed Dean from behind him. Dean turned around to look at him, noticing for the first time that Sam had followed him into the room.

While Dean had been immersed in the drawings papering the walls, Sam had been entranced by a bookshelf full of leather bound journals.

"He was good," Dean observed neutrally. Damon smirked.

"He was great," Damon corrected him.

"Elena was his favorite subject, as you can tell. His topic this summer was movement. He chose her as his subject. He spent the whole summer following her around with a video camera. They rented a dance studio for a couple days each week so Elena could dance and he could film and sketch. He was still trying to pick his favorite pieces to submit to his professors."

Sam had finally turned his attention to drawings. It was a strangely heart-wrenching look at Elena. Hundreds upon hundreds of drawings of her done by the person she loved best in the world, and now he was dead. The girl in the drawings didn't look much like the girl he'd seen in the graveyard yesterday. She looked alive and bright and shining. The girl in the graveyard had looked like death.

Sam examined a drawing of Elena—head cocked, eyes glittering mischievously, nose scrunched, teeth gleaming between her lips, her mouth opened like she was about to spit out something particularly feisty. He wondered if this is how his brother remembered Elena.

"He must've loved her a lot," Sam mused aloud.

"He did," Damon confirmed. He took a drink from his permanently full glass.

Dean had wandered over to the journals Sam had been looking at. He picked up the closest one absentmindedly. He opened the cover, Jeremy's name written clearly on the first page.

"The Gilbert journals," Damon supplied. "They date all the way back to the Civil War. A collection of various Gilbert ancestors' encounters with the supernatural," Damon explained casually. "Elena's are in there, Alaric's too, he might not have been a Gilbert by blood, but he certainly qualified for honorary status with how many times that damn ring brought him back from the dead."

Damon's tone was sour, still bitter over the loss of his friend even three years later. Time did not heal all wounds.

"Did your friends make any progress on finding Elena?" Dean asked casually.

"No," Damon said shortly. "I told you, she doesn't want to be found," he added bitterly.

"Why are your friends so anxious to find her?" Dean asked. He had an itching feeling that there was more to the story, and he wasn't about to let it go. This was about Elena, after all.

"They're worried about her," Damon replied evasively. Dean arched an eyebrow at him.

"She can handle herself, maybe she just wants some time alone," Dean pointed out.

"You think there's something more to the story?" Damon asked archly.

"Yes," Dean replied simply.

"There isn't," Damon said with finality. "She just lost her brother, they just don't want her doing anything stupid."

"Jeremy had the other Gilbert ring," Sam said suddenly, remembering part of the information dump earlier. "Why didn't it bring him back?"

Damon sighed heavily, throwing back the rest of his drink. He pulled another bottle of bourbon out of the desk's lowest drawer and refilled his drink.

"The Gilbert ring only works if the wearer is human, and Jeremy wasn't," Damon admitted reluctantly. Dean and Sam exchanged a wary look.

"What was he?" Dean asked.

"A supernatural hunter—ever heard of the Brotherhood of the Five?"

At Dean and Sam's astonished look, Damon smirked.

"So you have," he acknowledged. "Well one of 'em showed up not long after Ric bit the dust, stirred up some trouble. Potential hunters can see full-hunters' marks that are invisible to everyone except the Brotherhood. Turned out that we had two potential hunters right here in good ole' Mystic Falls." Damon smirked wryly.

"Jeremy and Elena," Dean breathed, understanding hitting him far too quickly. Hunters of the Brotherhood were like machines, they killed vampires without remorse or thought. It was pure instinct.

"Jeremy and Elena Gilbert," Damon echoed. "Turns out girls were included in the brotherhood, who knew? Unfortunately our hunter friend had himself an accident, there was a spot that needed to be filled in that twisted cult, and the rest you'd say, is history."

"So Elena let her brother become a hunter instead of doing it herself?" Sam asked disbelievingly. Damon shook his head, snorting.

"Hell no, " he denied. "She was ready to do it, and then Jeremy did it instead. Elena is the one who is close with vampires. I mean, Jeremy would happily dump Stefan and I into a vat of vervaine even on a good day, and he and Caroline had never really connected, but Elena? Stefan was her first love, Caroline's her best friend. If it were suddenly her instinct to murder the people she cared about, she would be devastated," Damon pointed out.

"She was gonna do it anyway, to protect Jeremy. But he completed the awakening first," he explained grimly.

"So you guys think she's going to complete hers now?" Sam asked. Damon shook his head.

"They do, I don't," he corrected.

"Why not?" Dean asked. Damon smirked.

"The Hunter's Curse," Damon replied simply. Both brothers stared at him. He sighed but elaborated. "Jeremy was killed by a vampire. When a vampire kills a Hunter of the Five, they're cursed to torment and waking nightmares until the next hunter is awakened," he explained.

"That vampire who killed Jeremy is currently rotting in the cellar of our boarding house. He will be fed blood once a day and prevented from killing himself so that he may enjoy the full benefits of his curse," he told them with a feral grin.

"Elena knows this, she'd never purposefully commit her awakening because she wants him to suffer as long as possible," he said with a shrug.

Sam shifted uneasily. If he could guarantee that the person who had killed his brother would suffer for it, would he? He glanced over at Dean. He would.

Before they could ask any further questions, Damon's phone rang again. This time he didn't bother to leave the room, lazily answering his phone.

"Blondie," he addressed the caller.

While he talked, Dean pulled out another Gilbert journal. This time, it was Elena's name on the first page.

He flicked through a couple of pages, scanning through some of her experiences. He recognized some of the adventures, but the stories were carefully edited, the tone of the writing scientific and to the point. Dean frowned.

Damon hung up the phone, and gave Dean a once over.

"She never breathed a word about you to anyone," he told him. Dean looked up from her journal, blinking at him. "The only reason I know your name is because she said it once when she was really drunk and really tired," he continued.

"You were her greatest secret. Jeremy knew of course. I'm sure he knew everything, because they didn't have secrets, but she never told anyone about you. Not Bonnie, not Caroline, hell I didn't even get the scoop and I'm the one who picked her up that day—the only one who'd ever seen you," Damon observed.

"So?" Dean replied somewhat defensively. Damon shrugged.

"So she must care about you a lot," he suggested casually. After a brief awkward silence, Damon spoke again.

"That was Caroline, they haven't found Elena, so they're heading back to the house," he explained. "I'd suggest taking off unless you feel like being interrogated. Bonnie's gonna try some witchy juju to locate Elena."

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"So you'll know where she is soon?" he guessed. Damon laughed.

"Elena didn't want to be found that summer, so even magic couldn't find her," Damon told them. "Bonnie is the most talented witch I have ever met, if she couldn't find Elena then, what makes you think she'll be able to find her now? Elena doesn't want to be found," he reminded them. "Not by us," he added under his breath. He stood up and led them to the front door.

"Thanks for the history lesson," Dean said dryly.

"No problem," Damon replied, raising his full glass in salute. Silently, the brothers made their way back to the car, getting in and driving away without so much as a word.

It was late afternoon and Sam didn't object when Dean continued to drive beyond the town limits, back the way they came. Dean didn't say, but he already had a sneaking suspicion where Elena might be. There were a few towns that she'd been particularly taken with that summer, and while Dean didn't want to drag Sam around searching for her, he needed to know if she was okay.

When they came up to the bar, Dean had a thought. Without consulting Sam he pulled into the parking lot. He parked close to the front and looked over at his brother.

"It's a long shot," he admitted, "But I have to check."

Sam nodded in understanding.

Dean got out of the car and Sam followed. Inside the bar was empty because of the early hour. Sam hung back by the door, Dean instinctively looking to the corner where he'd first seen Elena.

That familiar head of glossy brown hair was bowed, her shoulders hunched in an unconscious effort to make herself less noticeable, but Dean would find her even in the dark. Heart hammering in his throat, Dean strode across the bar to sit on the barstool beside her.

Up close her skin was paper tissue thin, almost hanging off her bones with weary abandon. Her eyes were rimmed red and raw, angry purple bruises blossoming below her eyes, evidence of many sleepless nights. Had she slept at all since it had happened? Her mouth quivered and her eyes were blank and staring. Her right hand was still tightly wrapped around some object—except now Dean had a guess as to what it was. She looked defeated.

"I didn't think you'd come," she admitted without looking at him. There was a full glass in front of her, ice melted. He wondered how long she'd been sitting there.

"Sorry it took so long," he apologized. He briefly pondered why her lack of surprise at his presence felt right, but easily dismissed it. Of course he would come. She needed him. "I was catching up on a few things."

"It's okay," she said dully, she looked at him finally, mustering up a weak smile. "You couldn't be on time if your life depended on it," she recited solemnly. He smiled fondly at the reminiscent.

"I saw you at the cemetery yesterday," he admitted. She looked mildly surprised at that. "We were in town dealing with a ghost—Logan Fell," he explained. She snorted weakly.

"Fell ghost," she muttered with a weak giggle. "Figures it would be him," she nodded. "Ass," she added under her breath absentmindedly.

"I didn't know if you wanted me there on top of everything else," he admitted. She gave him a solemn smile.

"I always want you there," she confessed quietly. His throat felt tight and it unnerved him. He cleared it in effort to quell his swelling emotions.

"You been here all day?" he asked. She shook her head.

"I went to Whitmore first," she confessed quietly. "I went to our new apartment—the landlord had only just dropped off the keys the day before it happened."

She touched her fingers to the slick glass in front of her, absentmindedly tracing infinity signs in the condensation.

"It has these big windows looking out over campus," she told him. "He wanted to work on landscapes in the Fall, take a break from figures and movement."

He put his hand gently on her wrist, unable to resist touching her any longer. She sighed and shifted closer to him.

"I called the landlord and told him we weren't moving in and that I'd leave the keys in the mailbox."

Beneath his fingers he can feel the way she trembles; so subtly he would never have known she was shaking just from looking at her.

"Then I went to our school and told them I needed to take some time off," she confessed. "They were very understanding," she added.

She looked at him.

"I don't know if I'm going back," she divulged softly. He frowned.

"Why not?" he asked. She shook her head.

"I don't know if pre-med is the right choice for me," she told him. "I've been silently doubting my choice all summer, and after Jeremy—I just need time to think about it."

"That's probably a good idea," he agreed diplomatically. It was bizarre, sitting here talking about her college major when her brother had just died. But Dean had heard that everyone grieved in different ways. He thought maybe she was still in shock. It was probably easier for her to question her career path than to think about losing her brother.

"I don't know what I'm gonna do," she admitted, and the double meaning was not lost on him. Her right hand was still clenched tightly around the object. Dean reached for her hand, gently unfolding her fingers to reveal the Gilbert ring—just as he had suspected.

Elena stared at it, her mouth trembling, fingers twitching. Dean braced himself for the floodgate.

"He's never coming back," she whispered. "He's gone, Dean," she turned to look at him. "He's dead," she told him. "They're all dead."

Her mouth quivered and her eyes shone with tears, but she did not cry. Behind the deceptive shine of tears, her eyes were dead. Somehow, this was worse than tears.

"I'm the only one left."

Her words felt like a revelation—even though he'd already known that her whole family was dead, somehow it was worse, hearing it from her lips.

"Elena," he began, unsure of what to say, but she cut him off.

"It feels—" she started and then stopped. She stared hard at the ring in her hand. "It feels like sitting in the car at the bottom of the lake, holding my dad's hand and knowing that this is the end," she told him. She looked over at him, her eyes eerily calm.

"It feels like Klaus's teeth in my throat, it feels like being sacrificed on an altar of fire, blood draining from my body, submitting to my fate," she described. "It feels like dying, Dean. It always hurt, losing them, but this time it feels like I'm losing myself too."

She stated it like she was talking about the weather and her eerie calm was worse than any tears or screaming she could have done. He didn't know what to do when she looked like she was already gone. He didn't know to say, so he said nothing. It didn't seem to bother Elena.

"Through it all, I've always tried so hard to go on with my life—every loss, every funeral, I got out of bed and I kept going, but this time—" she shook her head. "This time I don't know if I can."

"Didn't you?" Dean pointed out gently. "You got out of bed this morning and you told your school you needed time off, you told your landlord you wouldn't be moving in, that's a lot of living if you ask me."

She gave him a weak smile.

"Maybe I'm stronger than I think," she said lightly.

"You're the strongest person I know," he told her seriously. Her mouth quivered, her eyes filling with tears and he thought finally. Tears slid down her cheeks and he gathered her into his arms.

Crying Elena was easier to deal with than the stonewall he'd been submitted to. He knew what to do when she cried, he could hold her and stroke her hair and make sure she knew he was there for her. When she was blank, he was almost afraid to touch her.

Her arms wrapped around his waist, burying her face into his shoulder as she sobbed. He cradled the back of her head with his hand, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

He didn't tell her she would be okay, didn't make shushing noises or try to sooth her pain. This was not a pain for soothing. Instead, he just held her while she cried for all that she had lost.

She pressed herself deeper into his embrace and he tightened his grip on her. He remembered this game, the one where she tried to bury herself into his bones, tried to crush her pain in the press of their bodies.

When her sobs subsided, she stayed there in his embrace, facing his neck. He could feel her warm breath on his neck as he stroked his fingers through her hair. Eventually she pulled back out of his embrace. She swiped at the tears on her face.

"I should've asked you about your life," he blurted out. He'd been biting the words back since he'd sat down, and he couldn't any longer.

She gave him a sad smile and shook her head.

"I don't think I would've told you even if you had," she confessed quietly. He winced, surprised at how badly that hurt. She shook her head.

"Not because I didn't trust you," she assured him. "I wouldn't have told you because I was running from every horrible thing that had happened to me."

"I spent that whole summer running from the pain and the guilt," she admitted. He frowned. "I knew I had to face it eventually, but I'm glad I had that summer with you. It made it easier to stop running."

He smiled at her admission.

"You didn't stop running at the end of the summer," he told her gently. She frowned. "Maybe you weren't running from the same things," he amended. "But you were running."

She shook her head.

"I didn't mean to run from you," she apologized. He shrugged.

"I shouldn't have let you," he said simply, because while she was the one who had always pulled away from him, he was the one who let her.

"I'm not running anymore," she told him solemnly. Here she was, leaving her hometown behind her, and yet somehow he knew she was telling the truth. There was a difference between walking and running.

He took her face gently in his hands.

"Good," he told her gravely, and then he kissed her. She sighed against his mouth and reciprocated eagerly. She tasted like salt and strawberry lip balm. It was a soft kiss, but the sweetness of it made his chest ache like a clean break. He never realized how badly he had missed her until then.

When he pulled back at last, he kept his forehead pressed against hers. She rubbed her nose against his, making him smile.

"I don't know where I'm going," she admitted. "I didn't exactly have a plan."

He ran his fingers through her hair.

"You're coming with us," he told her decidedly. She pulled back to give him a questioning look.

"Us?" she asked. He nodded toward the door and she turned around to look. Sam was still standing there and had been watching them intently. He raised a hand and gave an awkward wave.

"Sammy," he told her. Elena waved back, turning to look at Dean.

"Your brother," she said, and there was pain in her voice, but no resentment. She didn't begrudge him his brother when she had just lost hers.

He nodded.

"He won't mind?" she asked. He shook his head.

"Nah, he's dying to meet you," he reassured her.

"Really?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Really," he echoed. "He's pretty much obsessed with the idea of you and me," he told her. She let out a weak chuckle.

"Well then we shouldn't keep him waiting," she replied seriously. He nodded and stood up.

"Nah, we shouldn't," he agreed. She stood up too, taking his hand in hers. He led her toward the door and Sam. She pressed herself against his back, standing on her toes to reach his ear.

"I think you showed up just in time," she whispered to him, pressing a kiss onto his shoulder as she settled back onto her feet.

He tugged her in against his side, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

"I think so too," he agreed. There were lots of things left for them to talk about—her own telling of her past, his telling of his own, those words they had never said, what she planned to do about her potentially becoming a Hunter of the Five—but they had time. For now, he would introduce her to his brother.

They had time, for the rest of it.

**Author's Note:**

> I killed Jer, I know, I suck. I used the simplest form of choosing members of the brotherhood, bloodlines, and also assumed/decided that girls could become hunters, too. I've always been enamored with the idea that if Elena was human she might've been able to see the mark too, and I blatantly took this opportunity to exploit that. I hope you enjoyed


End file.
